Untitled #572 (2014)

And Faulkner did like his whiskey,and it ain’t comparison, but I do too.Humid swelt afters.        and more clever roots that seem archaeic now.The warmth and the sweat reminds me of those pleasant afternoons,Eleanor wrapped inside me. Blue-jeans, t-shirts, thrift-shop long-sleeves,don’t have much use for delicates,on me, in me, in anything.             And …